


Sweet as Honey, Gold as the Sun

by HartwinMakethMan



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Beekeeping, Billy Never Moved to Hawkins, F/M, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gen, M/M, Sex in the Back of a Honey Truck, Sex on the Beach probably, livin in Cali with his Momma, steve moves to california, the farmers market au that nobody knew they needed, well-adjusted Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:36:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartwinMakethMan/pseuds/HartwinMakethMan
Summary: Steve Harrington was drifting. Working a dead end job for his asshole Dad, ignored by his Mom, and feeling his gaggle of brats growing up and away from him. He didn’t tell a soul as he made the preparations, packed up the Beemer, and headed west.LA went from great to stale pretty fast when he realized that he was just drifting in a bigger current now. Still alone— until a walk on the beach opens the door for something sweet. They drifted together, like honey to a bee.





	Sweet as Honey, Gold as the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the deal— Billy didn’t move with the Hargrove-Mayfields. He’ll tell the story later, but the point is, he never came to Hawkins, but Max did. Still met the Party, made friends and saved the town. Billy ran off to find his mom, and he did. 
> 
> Everything else kinda happened the same— except Steve getting 100% dethroned as King of Hawkins High and getting his face smashed in by Billy. 
> 
> This is fluffy and fun with a healthy helping of past abuse and fresh starts. And smut. And honey. 
> 
> LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ❤️🐝❤️

Steve was drifting after high school graduation. He drifted right out of the halls of Hawkins High and into a desk job at his dad’s office. If he was being honest, he’d been drifting since the Gate closed— maybe even since Nancy broke it off.

 

He wasn’t mad. She was his _best_ _friend_. He and Jonathan were even friends now. No, he hadn’t been mad for a long time— but he was lost. The kids were going to high school. Dustin would be getting his license one of these days, and Steve’s last function to his little gaggle of brats would become all but useless.

 

The idea of not serving a purpose left the bitter tang of anxiety in his throat. Once the kids didn’t need him— and Joyce and Hopper and even Nancy— Steve would be left behind. _Again_.

 

Getting the courage to make a change in his life was one of the hardest things Steve had ever done. It involved a lot of long nights staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom and feeling like a failure. It took a bit of covert research with the family banker and the travel agent that booked all of his mom’s “Spa Weekends”.

 

It took charming his way through phone interviews with his Dad’s “buddy” out on the coast, and quietly packing up the Beemer with only the things he loved and needed.

 

Steve drove out of Hawkins on a sunny morning, the bite of winter still hanging in the spring air. He thought that maybe this was a stupid decision. Maybe he’d made a huge mistake.

 

But, his resignation was already on Dad’s desk. The note he had left for Mom was on the kitchen table. There was no turning back now. Not even for the sake of Dustin or Joyce— Steve had made his bed and now, he had to lie in it. 

 

He pressed his foot to the gas and turned up the radio, not looking at the _Leaving_ _Hawkins_ sign that loomed in the window. Steve started to breathe easier once it was past, and headed west. 

 

California was just as beautiful as it looked in the pictures. The palm trees, the balmy breeze, the sound of the waves— Steve was parking the Beemer at the beach first thing when he arrived, even before he even went to meet his new landlord. The sand was hot between his toes and he couldn’t help the rush of energy that sent him running to the shoreline.

 

For the first time in his life, no one knew where Steve was— he was the master of his own fate. 

 

He grinned out at the endless expanse of deep water and spent the afternoon watching the insane variety of incredible, bizarre people that called LA "home". He had drifted and drifted and now he was _finally_ out to sea.

 

The freedom was addictive at first. It felt like a vacation as spring became summer. Steve started his new job, made a couple acquaintances that he wouldn’t _dare_ call _friends_ , and walked the beach every day.

 

No parents, no one to judge him, no one to leave him behind or ignore him. Steve loved it.

 

But, the veneer wore off pretty quick. The loneliness set in. He had a job, an apartment, and all the freedom in the world, but he didn’t have an anchor.

He stopped walking the beach. He was climbing the ranks at work, but he didn’t really care. He barely talked to anyone at all.

 

The apartment was small, but nice, cushioned by the sizable amount of cash Steve had made while working for his dad. God knows the guy had paid him way too much— Steve was barely more than a glorified secretary. 

 

Working sales for his dad’s ex-business partner, Oliver Northum, felt like suitable revenge for being condescended to for his whole fucking life. And he might as well get a nice apartment out of the deal. 

 

But it was starting to become a prison. The soft white walls, uncomfortable modern furniture that came with the place, the nearly completely unused kitchenette— Steve couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand his lonely bed and his lonely life. 

 

He wondered if the kids missed him. He wondered if his parents had even bothered to look for him. 

 

Steve didn’t know what possessed him— he fucking _missed_ home all of a sudden. It came in waves, and one was just strong enough that he picked up the phone. 

 

He dialed the number on autopilot, bouncing his leg as he held the receiver to his ear and waited to be reamed out by the familiar voice that picked up. 

 

_“Hello?”_

 

“Nance?” It felt so good to hear her voice “It’s Steve.” 

 

There was a long beat of silence. 

 

_“Are you fucking kidding me, Steve Harrington!?!”_

 

Nancy gave him an earful that turned to pleas of _“Come home, Steve! Please!”_ and he was sorely tempted.

 

_“We miss you! Dustin was so devastated— all the kids were. Even Mike misses you, and you know how he is!”_ she said, squeezing Steve’s heart with her words. _“They thought you were even taken by the Upside Down for a little while— Jesus, Steve. They know I know something, too—“_

 

“Nance, did you tell—?” 

 

_“No, no. But I couldn’t let them keep thinking that. John and I are headed back to school soon, and you need to call the kids. Call Joyce on a Friday, you know how everyone ends up there on Fridays...”_

 

After an hour, Nance came through with her usual wisdom. The advice Steve needed— _“Homesick? Well, you could come home—“_

 

“Nancy!” 

 

_“I know, I know. And I understand.”_ She sighed _“Get out of the house— for something that isn’t work. Go to a club, walk on the beach, go on a date. Just do something new every day. One day, it might feel like a home.”_

 

Which was how he ended up back on the beach— a new part, north of the city where the air was cleaner. Steve parked the car and rolled up his jeans, determined to actually _enjoy_ his Saturday.

 

The sand was already hot under the June sunshine, and Steve soaked in the rays as he walked along. He was still sleepy— he’d never been a morning person— but the cold pacific lapped at his ankles and kept him on his track.

 

The little bay was the last thing he expected.

 

Steve had reached the end of the strip of sand, nearly tripping onto the asphalt suddenly under him. It was the dead end of a street, nestled in at the edge of some beachside town. The hot road was lined with trucks and stalls, just setting up for the day.

 

Steve _could_ have just kept walking. He really could have.

 

He had never been the type for open air markets and idyllic early morning strolls. Back in Hawkins, he couldn’t be dragged out of bed by anything less than a damn demogorgen, and if Dustin could see him right then, he’d cackle. But, maybe he’d never really known who he was back in Indiana— beyond the _King of Hawkins High,_ or _a damn good babysitter._

 

Steve slipped on his sandals and started into the small crowd already gathering around one particular stand— the side of the truck said “ _Hargrove’s_ _Honey_ ” and Steve didn’t get what the big deal was.

 

Until he saw _him_.

 

The boy was about Steve’s age. A soft, tanned blonde with curls pulled away from his face, falling in a thick ponytail of spun fucking _gold_. Bees hovered lazily around as he bent over in his tight jeans, stocking the stand with jars and jars of sweet amber honey.

 

And Steve _got_ it. He suddenly understood the appeal of the honey stand at the farmers market.

 

He floated to the front of the crowd as the other customers hurried away with their purchases, in a trance, bees buzzing around his head.

 

“Can I help you, dude? You look a little lost.” the guy said, and he smiled like he was maybe laughing at him a little, but it didn’t feel unkind. _God_ , the Honey Boy had a beautiful smile— he fucking smiled and Steve had never been more _found_ in his entire life.

 

“I- Uh, hey. Yeah.” He replied dumbly. The only thing between him and Golden Honey Boy was a card table stacked with jars. His eyes were _so_ blue. Absently, Steve swatted a bee away from his head, trying in vain to play it cool, but it had the opposite effect.

 

The boy frowned, his hand out like a shot to grab Steve by the wrist to keep him from swatting.

 

“Hey man— they won’t hurt you. Just let ‘em be.” Both of them seemed to realize simultaneously that they were touching— that the boy had his warm, strong hand tight on Steve’s wrist. His tanned cheeks went the prettiest pink, and he let him go like he was on fire.

 

“Sorry— um, I get kinda protective of the bees. They recognize the truck and like to come around. Sometimes my anger still gets the better of me.” He was smiling again, and Steve needed to get it together before he blew his chance.

 

“I’m Steve.”

 

“Billy Hargrove.”

 

“Of _Hargrove’s_ _Honey_?” Steve tried to make this less awkward, missing the feeling of Billy’s hand on his skin.

 

“The very same. I run this place with my mom— She’s somewhere around here.”

The bees still buzzed distractingly around Steve’s head, and he flinched away when one hovered too close. Billy chuckled.

 

“They’re _not_ gonna _hurt_ you— bees get a bad rap, but they’re just like us.”

 

“Just like us _how_?”

 

The boy cleared his throat, smirking “Look at this.” He said, uncapping a sample jar and taking Steve’s hand. He smeared some sticky honey on Steve’s palm. 

 

Before Steve could think beyond his heart beating in his ears, there were three or four little honey bees resting on the nectar in his hand. Steve fought the urge to tug away, if only to stay here with Billy Hargrove, watching the Golden Boy who protected the bees.

 

He glanced up and met Steve’s eye, shining with mischief.

 

“See? They’re just lookin’ for something sweet.”

 

And he winked. Billy fucking winked at Steve and his cheeks got so hot, Steve thought he might explode.

 

Maybe California could be a home after all.


End file.
